


Deep Water

by coconutknightshade



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Military, Angst, Blood and Injury, Character Death, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt Peter Parker, ITS OKAY I HATE ME TOO, Military, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:33:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22306483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coconutknightshade/pseuds/coconutknightshade
Summary: "Minutes. Hours. In the end, Tony decides, none of it matters. Time isn’t an accurate unit of measurement. Not here and certainly not now. It hasn’t been an hour, or even two hours since the firefight began. It's been 90 rounds; that’s three magazines. Tony slams in a fourth just as another angry burst of fire rings out."Or, the military au literally nobody asked for but I wrote anyways
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 40
Kudos: 84





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blondsak](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blondsak/gifts), [seekrest](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seekrest/gifts).



> Shout-out to Blondsak (Thank you for pre-reading!!) and Seekrest for being bad influences and encouraging me to get back in touch with my angsty roots 🙃

In the few blessed moments of silence that he seems to have been granted, Major Tony Stark, with surprisingly steady hands, pulls his cheap digital watch from its place in one of the various pockets of his uniform. The face of it is cracked; shattered. _When had that happened?_ Tony drops the useless device into the dirt; leaves it to be scavenged by some local who will no doubt harvest from it what little material he can in order to patch up yet another shitty device and sell it to some other unsuspecting fool. It is a cycle both acknowledged and ignored. 

Minutes. Hours. In the end, Tony decides, none of it matters. Time isn’t an accurate unit of measurement. Not here and certainly not now. It hasn’t been an hour, or even two hours, since the firefight began. It has been 90 rounds; that’s three magazines. Tony slams in a fourth just as another angry burst of fire rings out. He takes off from the lonely spot of coverage he’s found in favor of heading for the building he knows a quarter of his team to be hunkered down in. There in the alley between haphazardly constructed buildings lay the body of PFC James Buchanan Barnes. That’s four. Tony tightens his grip on the gun, ignoring the spike of pain in his sprained wrist, and keeps running. 90 rounds and four fallen comrades.

Tony can already see the building down the road when he hears it. The clustered flurry of gunshots sound no different than its predecessors, only this time it’s followed by someone crying out. The familiar timbre washes through him and he stumbles to a halt. Fear instantaneously blossoms in the pit of his stomach; it reaches out and grips his heart tight, momentarily making it impossible for him to function. The voice cries out again, loud and thick with a fear more powerful than Tony's own. 

_Peter._

Without any regard to where he is supposed to be headed, Tony takes off down the street in the opposite direction; this time when he stops near the mouth of an alleyway, it’s with precision and purpose. He presses his back against the wall and scans the rooftops and upper level windows of the buildings lining the other side of the street. It takes every ounce of discipline he possesses to resist rounding the corner _right the fuck now_. He can hear the short bursts of fire that come more and more infrequently, yet still come nonetheless. After a deep breath Tony raises JARVIS, his trusty M16, and cautiously peers around the corner. 

His eyes fall to Pete first, and after discerning whether or not he is alive - _alive, he is definitely alive_ \- he begins roving the area for any signs of immediate threat. Movement in the corner of his vision has him immediately aiming high towards the second floor window of the building Peter's body is slumped against. It takes him a fraction of a second to spot the guy in his sights and pull the trigger. Two to the chest, one to the head. Or so it goes.

A gasp brings his focus back to the ground level and his eyes meet Peter's wide, red-rimmed ones. His M16 is tossed to the side and Tony spots the bloodied pistol in the hand of the kid he’d taken under his wing only a couple years back. A fresh wave of adrenaline washes through him and Tony surges forward, quickly crossing the distance between he and the one person he feels most protective of in the entirety of the goddamn U.S. Army.

“Pete.” His voice is thick as he falls to the ground before the kid who had harassed Tony at the Queens recruiting office near daily until finally he hit his eighteenth birthday. Now, closer, Tony sees how pale Peter looks. It’s a stark contrast to the red that seeps dangerously from not only various parts of his torso, but his mouth and nose as well.

“Mr. Stark, please. I don't feel so- I don’t want to die. I don’t want-” he struggles to swallow. “I’m so fucking scared, Tony. You gotta help me. _Please_.” The desperation in Peter’s voice bring tears to his eyes. Tony raises a hand to wrap around the one that Peter has curled into the top of his vest in a weak attempt to pull the older man closer. 

“I’m here. I’m here, Underoos. I’m not going anywhere.” And neither is Peter. Around them blood mixes with dirt to make a thick muddy paste and Tony knows then and there that he is in the midst of losing the brilliant, bright-eyed, hyperactive kid that somehow, somewhere along the way he had come to view as something of a son, and who he now is helplessly watching bleed out in some godforsaken city that he hadn’t even heard the name of before receiving his deployment paperwork. The realization is a knife to the heart and Tony lets out a choked sob as he reaches out to card a hand through the kid’s hair, fingers curling into the thick locks - weeks past standard regulation - and giving an affectionate tug. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Tony promises, a broken whisper. This can’t happen; he can’t lose Peter. He _can’t._ Not like this- not on the kid’s first deployment. Not _ever._

“I don’t want to die.” Peter coughs and blood sprays Tony's Kevlar. His eyes show terror in its purest form and it shakes Tony to his core. There is nothing he can do to save Peter and that realization is making Tony sick to his stomach; tearing him from the inside out. 

“You aren’t, Pete.” Tony forces a smile, hoping it looks as carefree as it always does with the kid, but knowing the snot and tears streaming down his dirt-ridden face give him away. Peter's body shakes with the force of his sobs and Tony looks to the sky, damning the god who must be a hateful, petty bastard if he’s turning his back on Tony now, _again_ , just as he had for the man's entire life. Shakily, he again brushes gently through Peter’s hair before finally bringing his hand down to rest against the side of the kid’s face. 

Tony absolutely _hates_ himself for letting this dangerously intelligent kid enlist in an unforgiving institution that sees nothing beyond fresh, new boots on the ground. He hates himself for letting this smart mouth kid sweet talk him into fighting for Pete’s transfer to the squad. And yet… He _loves_ himself for letting this _heartfelt, loyal, and courageous_ kid worm his way into Tony’s heart, for letting himself experience the affection and _privilege_ of someone like Peter looking to him for guidance with such blind faith; and for then _finally_ letting his own walls drop to reciprocate the warmth that comes with finding a family that loves you without condition. 

It was a reckless and _selfish_ sentiment…. And now Tony is paying the price. Because in this moment, there is nothing he can do but hold that same witty kid from Queens as he bleeds out, terrified, into Tony’s trembling - _guilty -_ hands. 

“Don’t let me die alone. _Not here_. Please, Mr. Stark.” More coughing. More blood. Tony can’t hold back his own body-racking sobs as he leans forward, pressing his forehead to Peter’s. The knot in his throat is hard to swallow around and Tony thinks to himself that at the moment he really doesn’t give a fuck whether or not he lives or dies anymore. Tony has suffered through a lot of fucked up things; but now, in this moment, his world consists only of the two of them.

“Pete... _Don’t_. Please don’t die; you can’t leave me, kiddo.” His hand still shakes uncontrollably against the kid’s cheek, but Peter leans into the touch- Absorbing whatever means of comfort he can as his mind grows weary from thought. Tony meets Peter’s exhausted, defeated gaze and his heart breaks; shatters like his ruined pocket watch. He squeezes his eyes shut tight, not ready to let go. 

_Everything hurts._

A fresh wave of gunfire, not far from their location and growing ever closer, has them both jump, and Tony moves back a fraction of an inch. The life is fading from Peter and they both know it; both know they have only minutes. Maybe.

With no energy and no _fight_ left within him, Peter has gone quiet, the last of his sobs having long since died on his lips. His hand, once curled tight into the neck of Tony’s Kevlar like a lifeline, has fallen listless to his lap. The only thing supporting his head is Tony’s trembling hand. 

“Go.” Peter’s voice sounds wet in a way that will haunt Tony until the day he draws his final breath; and from that one word the man fails miserably to hide the confused hurt swimming behind his eyes. Upon seeing this, a few fresh tears roll down Peter’s cheek as he pulls in a pained, ragged breath and, with what must exert more energy than he has left to spare, adds, “You can’t die here, Mr. Stark.”

"I’m not going to leave you, Underoos.” It’s a whisper dancing delicately in the short distance between them- a distance Tony quickly closes, chin wobbling as he presses dry, sun-cracked lips to his kid’s hairline. “I won’t let you go through this alone.”

As fate would have it, those final words fall on deaf ears. For when Tony pulls away it's to see Peter's glassy, lifeless eyes staring up at him. A sea of stormy blue that bore the echo of a young stolen soul.

Tony has never felt so alone.


	2. On Titanium Wings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony and Pete come home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I just couldn't help myself.

The plane jolts roughly when the wheels hit the ground, in turn pulling Tony abruptly from his thoughts, and he absently rubs his forehead where it had bounced off the cold plastic window. In all honesty he hadn't taken note of their descent, of the lights from the airport breaking through the darkness of the night sky. Not a star above; even the moon has retreated behind layers of thick clouds. 

Tony hopes that from somewhere far above, Peter can see them. 

People say that nobody is an atheist in the fox hole; Tony disagrees. It's easy to be free of faith when witnessing first hand the atrocities surrounding you. It's much harder when you're flying home, stomach twisting at the grim realization that your fallen brothers and sisters have left you, even in death. A soul evaporated into the abyss of time and space. 

Flying home, stepping foot on familiar yet unfamiliar land, you find yourself desperately clinging to a promise that your brothers never truly leave you; that even when you're walking through the streets, scanning rooftops for any sign of threat - because that's your new normal now - you will never be entirely alone… You can be surrounded by friends and family, but the stark absence of your brotherhood will always leave you feeling, at least to some degree, that you are navigating this world alone. 

They land just before dawn; Tony and Peter. An officer boards the plane and Tony's eyes fall shut, head resting against the back of the seat as he absently listens to the exchange between officer and air hostess. For the duration of the flight she had gone out of her way to steer clear of the plane's only passenger- Only _living_ passenger. They're talking about him, but none of what they're saying is processing. 

From there things are a blur. Per regulation, your assigned rifle is effectively your Battle Buddy until your boots hit U.S. soil. It's with some reluctance that Tony lets the officer pull JARVIS from where it's been resting as a weighted comfort against the inside of his left thigh, white knuckle grip on the barrel, for the last however many hours. 

When Tony steps back into reality he's standing next to several nameless, faceless officers as they all watch five men in uniform reverently unload the cargo. A pine box. 

_The Pine Box._

Tony's chest is tight and he's only vaguely aware of the papers he's signing, scribbling some unfortunate signature there at the bottom and shoving the clipboard back at the officer who had urgently pressed it into his hands with a gruff, _"You need to sign it over. Chain of custody, you know."_

 _It._

Tony frowns, eyes never wavering from the scene before him. _It_ was Peter Parker; twenty year old kid from Queens with a smart mouth and heart of gold. A kid who _should_ have been shipped off to some genius university like MIT. Not shipped off to some… Tony swallows thickly, pushing the memory to a dark recess in the back of his mind to dance with the handful of others he struggles daily to keep away. 

A crew of soldiers prepare to load the cargo - _Peter_ \- into a black, ominous vehicle. Tony takes a step forward. One, two, and then a third. Until finally he's standing next to a casket that holds one of the few people he cares so deeply for in this world. No one stops him as he hesitantly reaches out a shaking hand to press against its cold side. 

The shoddily patched together dam in his chest breaks and Tony sucks in a sharp, gasping breath. His chest hurts something fierce as a sob rips through him; another, then another until both hands rest on the casket and his forehead is pressed to the lid. Tony, despite the way his body shakes with the force of his sobs, is careful not to disturb the nation's flag that has been laid across the casket with care. Not a single person moves to comfort him, to press a warm hand to his shoulder; Tony is inconsolable. 

Tony wants to be angry, to feel abandoned by this kid he'd come to care for so deeply. It's easier than the truth- That ultimately it's _he_ who let the kid down. Breathing has become difficult and his chest burns as he breathes the frigid night's air into his already aching lungs. 

He's exhausted himself by the time the sun peaks over the horizon, ever so slowly casting its ray across the expanse of runways. Finally Tony steps back with a sharp nod, almost imperceptible. The same five men from earlier sweep back into sight, hefting the casket onto their shoulders and gently loading it into the back of the black, nondescript vehicle. 

All too suddenly the doors are shut, the box holding Peter now out of sight. Another gust of breath leaves him and it settles in his chest that tonight - or more accurately, this morning - is the last time he will stand alone with the body of the kid he'd mentored for nearly four years now. The next time they occupy the same space, Tony will have to stand in the presence of not only his own loved ones, but May Parker… The kid’s only living relative. A relative who Tony has made it his responsibility to break the news to. It will be one of the hardest things he'll ever have to do. 

Grief twists his insides and tears once again fall freely, staining his cheeks in much the same way Peter's blood had stained his hands. Blood that not a hundred showers will ever truly wash away.

The engine roars to life and Tony's heart pulses loud in his head, beating faster as if it might make up for the loss of Peter's own. He doesn't blink as the vehicle transporting a much beloved kid drives off, leaving his breathing ragged and knees trembling, threatening to give way beneath him. Instead, he inhales deeply and draws himself up tall. 

A flicker of a moment and Tony can almost imagine Pete's transparent form standing in the distance, in wake of the vehicle carrying him off. Tony meets the illusion's gaze and the fierceness in Pete's eyes coupled with the easy, lazy grin on his face gives Tony the strength he needs to pull his shit together in the face of what he knows is soon to come. 

Never pulling his eyes from the fading hallucination, Tony raises his hand, the edge of his forefinger ghosting over his right eyebrow. A salute to that sweet kid he'd come to consider family. 

A soft breeze breaks apart the conjured image of Pete - gone just as quickly as it came - and Tony's eyes are locked onto the vehicle currently making its way down the tarmac into a sunrise that brings with it what will be a harsh, unforgiving day.

**Author's Note:**

> Catch me on Tumblr at [coconutknightshade](https://coconutknightshade.tumblr.com/) for more Irondad & Spiderson content! <3


End file.
